Eyes of Midnight
by Phoenix Lam
Summary: -ON HIATUS- What if Murlough wasn't always evil? Perhaps something happened to make him that way? Read on, and learn the story you haven't heard...Reviews highly welcomed! Murlough x OFC
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CIRQUE DU FREAK, OR THE MOVIE (OFF WHICH I AM BASING MOST OF THIS). NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. MOIRA, HOWEVER, IS MY OWN CREATION! USE OF HER CHARACTER IS STRICTLY NOT ALLOWED UNLESS YOU ASK FOR PERMISSION FROM ME! I LOVE REVIEWS, SO DON'T HESITATE TO LEAVE ME ONE. ENJOY THIS, AND KNOW THAT I ENJOYED WRITING IT!**

I took a good look at the boy sitting across from me. The red and gold of the tent cast a strange light on his pale face, but otherwise he looked like your typical all-american teenager. Crepsley had sent him to see me with strict instructions.

"Make sure he knows the difference between a Vampire and a Vampeneze. I cannot get him to listen to me, and it is infuriating."

Crepsley, even after all these years, still had no patience. I returned my thoughts to the boy, who stared at me with wide eyes.

"Darren, is that your name?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"And how do you like being a vampire, Darren?"

He shrugged. "It's cool, I guess."

"Do you know why Crepsley sent you to see me?"

He shook his head no.

"Hm. Well, answer me another question, then. Do you like stories?"

"Sure, why not?"

I smiled, and he seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders. "My tale begins two-hundred years ago, before the war began. The Cirque was thriving, to say the least. They put on at least four shows a week, every event was packed, with lines that stretched for miles."

My story was having the desired effect on Darren so far…he seemed hypnotized, as if he was watching my words play out right before his eyes. Perhaps, as a vampire, he was.

"There was a particular member of the Cirque who dazzled all those she came across. They called her The Marvelous Moira…she could move things with her mind. The act was a great success, and it brought in a lot of money. The Cirque had never been so prosperous, and it was growing at a rate not seen in years. Among some of the new arrivals was a strongman who grew up in Ireland. He was a runaway at 15, but it was not until the age of 20 that he discovered the Cirque du Freak."

__

_He walked into the main tent, watching as the workers set up stands for the audience. Many who saw him smiled and waved. Had he been in Ireland, he would have been laughed at, or beaten, or left out because people were afraid of him. He was six-foot-five, with thick black hair and an intense gaze. His voice was smooth and low, and he was superhuman in strength. He could lift a full-grown elephant in each hand, barely breaking a sweat. Even so, he was a gentle giant, but people refused to see that. More than anything, he wanted to be normal. Still, this place—this Cirque du Freak—was where fate had brought him. He walked forward with long strides, his black boots leaving prints in the dirt floor. He wore slacks, a green linen shirt, and a faded brown duster that came to his knees; his hair had been left down. As instructed, he walked until he saw a gap in the tent wall. He went through, and found himself staring at a thin man with Asian eyes who must have been eight feet in height._

"_Mr. Tall, I presume?" He asked, his Irish accent refusing to leave him no matter how hard he tried._

_The Asian man nodded his oddly-shaped head slowly, almost as if he were in pain. "Welcome to Cirque du Freak. You are our Strongman?"_

"_I am, Sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance," He said as they shook hands._

"_Your palms are so calloused," Mr. Tall said._

_He feigned a smile. "I was a boxer back in Ireland…more than that, we had to work hard if we wanted supper."_

"_Ah," Mr. Tall said, a whimsical tone to his voice. "Indeed, I know the feeling. Your tent is the blue one…I will have one of our members show you."_

_He stuck his head out of the gap in the canvas. "Moira! Would you please show our new Strongman to his quarters?"_

"_Of course!" He heard a quiet voice reply._

_Mr. Tall waved him out into the main ring, and he saw the one called Moira for the first time. She was about five-foot-seven, with long auburn hair and midnight-blue eyes. Beautiful, but there was something guarded in her manner. She approached him with a small smile on her lovely mouth, holding out a slender hand. He was almost afraid to shake it, worried he might crush the fingers. Still, the handshake occurred, followed by a sigh of relief when he saw that her hand was intact._

"_My name is Moira," She told him. "Welcome! I think you'll like it here."_

"_What do you do?" He asked as they walked from the tent._

"_I'm telepathic…I move things with my mind. It's quite fun, actually."_

_He grinned. "I can imagine. I think I saw a poster when I first got here…The Marvelous Moira?"_

_She lit up like a firefly. "That's me! Now, look, here, there's your tent."_

_It was a round, blue structure, dotted with large silver sequins, like stars. The canvas was the same dark color as Moira's eyes…_

__

"Was Mr. Crepsley still at the Cirque?" Darren asked, his leather jacket rubbing together as he leaned forward.

"Oh, yes," I said. "He took quite a liking to the Strongman. They were very good friends. I'm sure he told you about the Masquerades?"

"Yes! I've always wanted to go to one."

I nodded. "The War changed many things…it simply wasn't safe to have them anymore. When the Cirque did, however, it was no small event. Freak Shows from all over the world were invited, and what a spectacle it was! The Masquerade of 1811 was particularly memorable…did he tell you about that one?"

"No. He hasn't told me that much."

"Tsk tsk. Well, it's a good thing I'm here, then."

"Are you like, the storyteller, or something?"

I smiled. "In this case, I suppose I am. Now listen up."


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CIRQUE DU FREAK, OR THE MOVIE (OFF WHICH I AM BASING MOST OF THIS). NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. MOIRA, HOWEVER, IS MY OWN CREATION! USE OF HER CHARACTER IS STRICTLY NOT ALLOWED UNLESS YOU ASK FOR PERMISSION FROM ME! I LOVE REVIEWS, SO DON'T HESITATE TO LEAVE ME ONE. ENJOY THIS, AND KNOW THAT I ENJOYED WRITING IT!**

_Crepsley had rented the ballroom for the night, and it was spectacular, to say the least. The year was 1811; the Strongman had been a member of the Cirque du Freak for five years. During that time, he began to realize that his desire to be normal had been a foolish one. He was a freak, and proud of it._

_The ballroom was bathed in gold leaf; the grand staircase glittered in the candlelight. Already, the room was swarming with colorful gowns. He noticed that Venetian masks were favored among the guests, though some of them were misshapen in order to fit their owner's heads. He could almost laugh at the irony of freaks wearing masks, but instead he straightened his black suit jacket and walked down the stairs. Considering some of the outfits present, his was modest. An all-black suit with a black hood attached, making his mask look like a part of him. It was simple white porcelain, with elaborate gold paint around the eyes and on the lips. He saw Crepsley immediately—even with his red and blue jester mask, the mop of orange hair was unmistakable. He mingled here and there as the music played, but his eyes were brought back to the stairs after a few minutes. Coming down in a flowing blue-green gown was Moira, her mask the same sea-color with dark feathers, silver swirls around the eyes, and a puckered mouth like a kiss. She glided toward him and he saw the smile in her eyes._

"_How did you know it was me?" He asked, offering her his arm._

"_I told you I have a good memory. I know your shadow even in a crowded room."_

_He laughed. "Do you dance?"_

"_Not well," She admitted._

"_Would you like to give it a try?"_

_A moment of thought, and she shrugged. "Why not?"_

_ Near the end of their fifth dance, a shudder rocked the room. She fell forward, and he caught her with ease._

"_What was that?" She asked._

_Before he could reply, another tremor took over. Crepsley was speaking loudly, something about remaining calm, when the candles in the chandeliers above them exploded. Their flames shot to the ceiling, engulfing the long curtains on the windows of the second level. It did not take long for the flames to spread, nor the panic. It was chaos as guests ran for the exits, some tripping and falling along the way._

"_We have to get out of here," Moira said._

"_You go, I need to help Crepsley."_

"_I don't want to leave without you," She said._

_He took her hand and kissed it for a long moment. "Go on."_

_She lingered a moment more, then fled with the others to safety._

"_Crepsley!" He cried, his booming voice not hard to miss._

"_We can't save the ballroom," The Vampire said. "Make sure everyone gets out!"_

_With that, he went about herding the guests from the building. He picked up a woman and helped her to the doors, when a third explosion loosed some of the plaster from the ceiling. A large piece of it fell, landing like a ton of bricks on his head. He collapsed to the ground, and the last thing he saw was Crepsley running at him from across the room._

__

My silence obviously distressed Darren very much.

"You can't just leave me hanging!" He cried. "What happened next?"

I just smiled at him.

Darren stood up and walked toward the door of the tent. "I'll just ask Crepsley."

"He will not speak of it."

The boy stopped, and turned back to me. "You have to tell me, please?"

"I'm tired," I said simply. "Besides, it's almost dawn. You need your rest as much as I do, especially if the rumors are true."

He raised an eyebrow. "What rumors?"

"That you haven't been drinking blood."

He rolled his eyes, a growl issuing from his throat. "I won't do it!"

"You're a vampire, Darren. To not drink blood is just stupid. You died once, if you die again there's no bringing you back."

He blushed furiously, something I didn't think vampires could do. Then, with a sigh, he said good night and walked from my tent and out into the night.

__

_1808, TWO YEARS EARLIER_

_Moira looked up from the cauldron she was stirring at the sound of the canvas of her tent as it opened and closed. In stepped the Strongman, a large gash that stretched from his right shoulder in a diagonal line down his chest._

"_What on earth…" Moira began._

"_Accident with the weights," he said, his Irish accent always pleasing to her ear. "My strength is off today."_

"_You can lift a pair of cannons in each hand," She told him, somewhat skeptical._

"_You have off days with your telepathy, don't you?"_

_She had to admit he was right._

"_Have a seat."_

_He walked over to a chair near the green sheet that sectioned off Moira's bedroom._

"_Crepsley told me you doubled as the Cirque apothecary, of sorts."_

_Moira nodded. "If it's too serious, the doctor gets called. I've been able to handle most of it."_

_He watched as she took a wooden bowl from a set of shelves behind her, along with a mortar and pestle, and several oddly shaped bottles with individual labels on each one. With a quickness that only came from skill and practice, she mixed the ingredients together. A bit of this, a leaf of that, and some crushed plant material later, and voila. She put the poultice—now resembling a green paste, with a refreshing fragrance—in another wooden bowl, walking over to him._

"_Take off your shirt."_

"_A little forward, aren't you?" He asked, a glint in his eyes._

"_Oh, stop it."_

"_You know I'm only joking. A smile won't kill you, Moira."_

_She couldn't help it. As he lifted the blood-soaked shirt from his body, a smirk that he didn't see came to her mouth. It was gone as he sat back._

"_This is going to be cold," She said. "But it will stop the pain and protect from infection. Then I'll bandage you up and it will heal in no-time. Meanwhile, no heavy lifting."_

_ She put a hefty amount of the paste on her hand, and began to rub it on the cut. He winced at the cold, but relaxed after a moment. She tried to ignore the way his muscles felt under her hand, focusing instead on what she needed to do. After she had finished wrapping the bandage, she put a pin on to hold it in place._

"_Ow!" He said, reaching up and grabbing the hand that held the pin. "Watch where you put that!"_

_She gasped. "I'm sorry!"_

_For a moment, neither moved. There was a strange stillness, her eyes locked with his. He was wearing that sly little grin after a moment, and before she could do anything, he leaned forward and kissed her. She put her free hand on his good shoulder; his left arm hooked around her waist and pulled her closer. A rush of heat that began in her toes ran all the way through to her face, turning her cheeks red as roses._

"_Moira!" She recognized Crepsley's voice outside her tent. "Are you there?"_

_She pulled away upon hearing his voice, but did not look away from the Strongman._

"_Just a moment," She called._

_He gave her a wink before she turned and began to clean her workspace. By the time she looked up again, he had put his shirt back on and stood up._

"_Come in," She said._

_Crepsley walked into the tent._

"_Oh, there you are," He said to him. "I see she fixed you up, good as new."_

"_No lifting," I said to Crepsley. "Not until he's healed, at least."_

_Crepsley clucked his tongue as the Strongman silently dismissed himself and walked into the outside air._

"_The audience won't like that," The vampire said to her. "The Stupendous Strongman is a popular attraction."_

"_Surely you can think of something?" She asked. "A healed Strongman is better than an injured one."_

_Crepsley sighed. "I suppose, if you insist. Thank you at any rate for helping him."_

_As he was about to leave, she spoke up._

"_Was it really an accident with the weights?"_

_He inclined his head toward her, but did not turn. "Of course. Good night, Moira."_

_She was not satisfied with his answer, but the tone of his voice told her the conversation was finished. _

"_Good night."_

_Once he had gone, Moira let loose a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. _


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CIRQUE DU FREAK, OR THE MOVIE (OFF WHICH I AM BASING MOST OF THIS). NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. MOIRA, HOWEVER, IS MY OWN CREATION! USE OF HER CHARACTER IS STRICTLY NOT ALLOWED UNLESS YOU ASK FOR PERMISSION FROM ME! I LOVE REVIEWS, SO DON'T HESITATE TO LEAVE ME ONE. ENJOY THIS, AND KNOW THAT I ENJOYED WRITING IT!**

The sun had set, and Darren walked into my tent right on time. He sat down and began tapping his fingers on the desk in the center of the room. I finished folding my clothes that had just come from the wash, putting them away as slowly as I could without being obvious. After all, what was the harm in making him wait just a bit longer? I have to admit that I enjoyed the pained look on his face each time I smoothed more creases from a shirt. Finally, I sat down and smiled.

"Did you sleep well, Darren?" I asked him.

He nodded. "I don't think I'll ever get totally used to a coffin, even if this one has speakers."

"Where did we leave off?"

"You were talking about…" and here, he deepened his voice for dramatic effect, which I thought was hilarious coming from a boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen. "The Masquerade of 1811."

"Ah, yes. Well, that was a bit of a cliff hanger, wasn't it?"

__

_Moira couldn't believe her eyes. The wing of the Hospital was full of freaks, many of them gravely injured. How Crepsley had managed to have a whole wing cordoned off for the guests without any questions was beyond her….of course, Vampires were persuasive, that much was certain. She found the orange-haired bloodsucker leaning over a dwarf with multiple cuts on his elongated head._

"_Where is he?" She asked him._

_Crepsley didn't look up. "Ask one of the nurses, Moira. There are too many here for me to keep track."_

"_Larten, where is he?"_

_She never used his first name unless absolutely necessary. She liked to think that this was one of those times._

"_Oh, for Goodness Sake, Moira. Come with me."_

_Crepsley led her down the crowded hall, his long leather coat kicking out behind him._

"_I will warn you, it's not pleasant."_

"_Just let me see him."_

_He nodded, and pushed open the curtain to let her in. The Strongman lay on the bed, his whole body covered in burns that oozed in the open air. Every breath he took was strained, she could see the pain that racked his muscles with each inhale and exhale. After a long moment, she took hold of Crepsley's hand and led him outside, well out of hearing-range._

"_How bad is it?"_

"_If left this way, he will never perform again. Most likely, he will be an invalid."_

_Her hand flew, unbidden, to cover her mouth. Tears came to her eyes, spilling over as she thought of him forever in a wheelchair. The Strongman, weak? It was wrong._

_ She looked at the Vampire for a long time before speaking._

"_Turn him," She said quietly._

"_I will not," Crepsley said. "You know I could never wish this life on anyone, let alone such a dear friend."_

"_Larten, please. I'm begging you; we can't condemn him to a wheelchair. That would be worse than the life of a nightwalker!"_

_A visible struggle took place on Mr. Crepsley's face. He was fighting a war with himself, and after a moment, it was done. He walked over to the strongman and sat on the edge of the bed. He used the nail of his index finger to prick the strongman's palm, bringing the drop of blood that formed there to his mouth._

"_He has good blood," Crepsley said once he had swallowed. "I will do this, Moira, because he is my friend and because of what he means to you. Be aware, however, that he may not take kindly to us once he realizes what we've done."_

_Then, he spread his hands apart, pricking his own fingers before those of his friend. The blood exchange was done quickly, the Strongman's fate rewritten. After a while, the Vampire left the room "to check on the dwarf," he said. Moira remained at the bedside, laying her head down and succumbing to sleep. When next she woke, she noticed thick black cloth over all the windows in the room. It must be morning. Looking upon the Strongman, she gasped. His burns were gone. He had a few scratches on his face and arms, but other than that, he was fine. His skin was a tad paler than she remembered, but that was to be expected. Her only hope was that he would forgive her and Larten for what they had to do._

__

"Whoa, hang on," Darren said, interrupting me…again. "Mr. Crepsley did WHAT?"

"It was the only way," I told him. "What would you have done, Darren? Let him die? Imagine what that would have done to Larten?"

There was a tense silence, then. Darren seemed conflicted; his brows were so furrowed that they almost touched.

"Well," He finally said. "Was he angry? The Strongman, I mean?"

I nodded. "At first. He destroyed the room where he had been staying once he found out he could no longer walk in the sunlight, or eat his favorite foods, or see the blue of the sky on a clear day. It was very distressing, for everyone at the Cirque. Still, with time, he accepted his new life. For a while, he and Moira had happiness. They fell more deeply in love, even got engaged."

I trailed off, standing and pretending to organize my closet across the tent. I wasn't sure how well I could tell the rest of this tale unless I was facing away from him.

"What…what happened next?"

I took a deep breath, steadying my voice to mask what I was feeling.

"The war with the Vampeneze began."


End file.
